Remember
by Mademoiselle Satine
Summary: What happened to Christian right after the movie, when the screen went black? Just something I wrote on a whim. Songfic, oneshot.


_I came up with this when I was in the middle of writer's block and listening to this song. Normally I hate songfics, so I'm probably pretty bad at them, (go easy, this is my first one) but I thought this song was perfect. No, I don't own Moulin Rouge or this song._

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Christian sat staring at his typewriter, eyes bloodshot and cheeks tearstained. He hadn't slept since… he couldn't even remember when. Sleep was a long-forgotten luxury, as was eating. Crying, on the other hand, was an old friend. He nearly hadn't stopped since that fateful night. 

The writer wiped his eyes again before setting his fingers to the keyboard once more.

"Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months. And then, one not so very special day, I went to my typewriter, I sat down, and I wrote our story. A story about a time. A story about a place. A story about the people. But above all things, a story about love. A love that will last forever. 

The End." 

_Remember_

_I will still be here_

_As long as you hold me_

_In your memory_

Christian leaned back in his chair and sighed, feeling a miserable form of accomplishment. He had told their story. _Her _story. _That way,_ she had said, _I'll always be with you_.

_Remember_

_When your dreams have ended_

_Time can be transcended_

_Just remember me_

His gaze wandered over his filthy grotto to the motionless windmill mockingly placed within perfect view of his window, and his tears resumed. He could hear people laughing and talking on the Paris streets below, and he felt a strange sort of resentment. Satine, the only one who mattered, was dead. And yet the world went on. It was nothing short of abominable. Christian tried to tune Paris out, attempting to lose himself in the vast canopy of stars, feeling peculiarly drawn to one in particular.

_I am the one star that keeps burning_

_So brightly_

_It is the last light_

_To fade into the rising sun_

The feeling of completion returned. He had done it. He had finally done it. Normally it took authors a few years to write a book, but if you just cut out sleeping, eating, and leisure time, you could wrap one up in about six months.

_I'm with you_

_Whenever you tell_

_My story_

_For I am all I've done_

What was left now? Satine had meant everything to him; she had given him the best year of his life. One golden year. She had given him a mission when she died. _Tell our story, Christian._ And he had. Nothing else had occupied his thoughts or aspirations. Toulouse and the others had dropped in from time to time, but soon had learned to simply leave their writer friend alone. He was much too involved with clacking away on his typewriter to pay attention to anything they had to say.

_Remember_

_I will still be here_

_As long as you hold me_

_In your memory_

_Remember me_

Christian stood up, slowly making his way to the window to gaze out into the Paris night. The spectacular lights and music of the Moulin Rouge were no more, and the evening seemed lacking. There was no can-can, no flashing signs, no lazily spinning, vibrantly lit blades to draw the eye to the well-known bordello. Every sound and sight seemed far away, as if the writer was near the outskirts of the great city instead of in its leisure center. A sudden breeze swept through the streets, the old windmill squeaking as it reluctantly shifted in the wind. The gust tousled Christian's hair, flowing into his grotto and scattering papers everywhere. The writer didn't even notice. There was a familiar scent on the breeze, of jasmine and vanilla. He couldn't be sure, maybe it was the lack of sleep and food, but the way the air flowed around him, he thought… he could hear…

"Christian."

_I am that one voice in the cold wind_

_That whispers_

_And if you listen_

_You'll hear me call across the sky_

He shook his head, running his hand through his chocolate hair. He needed to sleep; his mind was playing tricks on him. He nearly jumped out of his skin, however, when he turned around and saw her.

Satine. Standing next to his typewriter, hand outstretched, as radiant as the day he laid eyes on her.

_As long as I still can reach out_

_And touch you_

_Then I will never die_

He froze there, his hand halfway through his hair, his body still twisted in the action of turning around. He blinked once, and she was still there. She had to be a hallucination, a mirage. He was going insane. Her lips moved, and it was _her_ voice again. He was positive this time, however softly she sang.

_Remember_

_I'll never leave you_

_If you will only_

_Remember me_

_Remember me_

She wasn't transparent or misty the way ghosts were in the movies. She looked as real as ever, as beautiful as she had always been. He ran to take her in his arms, but he could not. It was unexplainable, he just couldn't. He wanted to touch her, to feel her against him again, to hold her and never let go. But he simply couldn't.

_Remember_

_I will still be here_

_As long as you hold me_

_In your memory_

Christian at her feet, weeping with new fervor, sobbing as he hadn't since his love had died in his arms. She reached down to rest her hand on his head, and though he could not feel her touch, she swept through him, filling him with her love. For just that moment, he could hope again, he could _feel _again.

_Remember_

_When your dreams have ended_

_Time can be transcended_

_I live forever_

_Remember me_

He looked up to her through watery eyes, but she was gone. Only her gentle song remained.

_Remember me_

_Remember me_

He was going insane. There was no other explanation.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

_Yes, I know it was cheesy, but what songfic isn't? Seriously, people. Name one._

_Song: "Remember" by Josh Groban._


End file.
